


Grave Realisations

by Quietlymischievous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: The Abominable Bride, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:24:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5857573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quietlymischievous/pseuds/Quietlymischievous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft notices something important at the cemetery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A rather ridiculous drabble disguised as a writing exercise.

Mycroft shivered in the cold night air. This was absolutely ludicrous. There was nothing to be found upon digging up a one hundred and twenty-two-year-old grave, even if Sherlock hadn’t been high when he suggested it. And the Detective Inspector, did he really need to get down inside the grave with Sherlock? He was going to ruin his suit. Surely the man had better sense than... that... Oh, how interesting! He had never seen the DI without his suit jacket before. Lestrade looked quite fit in his shirt sleeves and leather gloves. My, my, and the cut of the man's trousers was extremely flattering, especially at that angle.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock called out, his annoyance clear in the crisp winter air. “Kindly shine the light on the grave and not the DI.”

"My apologies, I was just thinking of being somewhere... warmer," Mycroft felt his cheeks redden as he readjusted the beam, all the while thinking it was about time he kidnapped the Detective Inspector again. They were long overdue a chat.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft was just getting ready to sit down and read when the doorbell rang. Mrs Collins, his housekeeper, had left an hour ago and so he checked the security camera before going to open the door. He was quite surprised to find a familiar face on the screen. Pulling his dressing gown on over his sleep trousers and t-shirt, he then hurried down the steps to open the door.

There in the pouring rain stood DI Lestrade, carrying what certainly were a bag of takeaway and a bottle of brandy. The DI looked tired, not worried, so it wasn’t Sherlock that had prompted this visit. Intrigued, he opened the door, “Good Evening, Detective Inspector. Please come out of the rain. What brings you to my door, bearing takeaway, on such a miserable night? Curry is it?”

Greg stepped into the hall, careful to stay on the rug. He had forgotten his umbrella and his coat was dripping wet. “Yeah, it’s curry. Not hard to figure that out, is it? All you need is a good nose,” he laughed nervously. “I am sorry to come knocking so late, Mycroft. I just didn’t… I thought…”

“It’s alright, Gregory. Let me take your coat and let’s go into the Library. I believe the fire may not have gone out yet. You can warm yourself by it.” After he hung up the DI’s coat, he led him through the house. “Please make yourself comfortable while I resurrect the fire,” he indicated the overstuffed armchairs facing the fireplace. 

Mycroft coaxed the fire back into life without too much difficulty, then joined Lestrade in a late meal. Lestrade was good company and Mycroft liked curry. Laying their plates aside, he produced two glasses and poured them a drink. “This is excellent brandy, Gregory. But, why share it with me?” 

Greg watched the flames lick at the logs as the warmth gently caressed his skin. He was comfortable here. It wasn’t the first time he had visited Mycroft’s home, although it was the first time he hadn’t come to talk about Sherlock. “I thought you might have, you know, deduced it.”

Mycroft watched the other man’s cheeks redden, something that he knew had little to do with the heat coming off the fire. “Somewhat. I surmise that you have received important news today, but whether it was good or bad, I can only guess. I assume that by showing up at my door, you either feel the need to share it with someone or are hesitant to be alone while contemplating said news,” Mycroft set his glass aside and leant forward in the chair, folding his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees. “So, Gregory, are we having a celebratory toast or am I watching over you while you drown your sorrows?”

Greg set his drink down and ran his hands over his face. “I don’t know. Maybe a little of both.” He straightened his spine, working up the courage. He was here, he might as well get on with it.

Mycroft waited, patiently. Gregory would say what he wanted to say in his own time. He had known the DI for a long time and he had great respect for the man. They had first met in a hospital Intensive Care Unit. Gregory had saved Sherlock from a potentially fatal overdose many years ago. He had seen the potential in Sherlock and took it upon himself to make a deal with the young addict. He had promised to allow Sherlock access to crime scenes on the stipulation that if he ever showed up impaired in any way, he would never be allowed back. It had been just the motivation Sherlock had needed and Mycroft was grateful for the DI, more than the man knew.

Greg downed the last of his drink, “My divorce was final today.”

Mycroft nodded, “Ah.” In a rare moment of uncertainty, he didn’t know what to say. Should he congratulate him or give his condolences? 

“I went into marriage with the conviction that it was going to be forever. For better and for worse, you know? We have had our ups and downs: the miscarriage, all the long nights I was away on some grisly crime scene or another, her dad’s illness and death. We had some pretty bad times, but we had some pretty good ones too. I knew a long time ago, thought, she wasn’t faithful. I don’t regret marrying her; I got Lissie out of the deal. She, herself, is getting married in the spring. Maybe in a year or two, I will be a grandfather.”

Mycroft waited calmly. He could see this was hard for Gregory.

“I thought I would be sad when it was over.”

“And are you sad, Gregory?”

Greg shrugged, “I don’t know. Not as much as I think I should be, maybe. Then again, I am beginning to think I shouldn’t have wasted so many years being unhappy. I should’ve cut it off sooner.” He got up and held out his hands to the fire to warm them. “I have always been faithful, even though she wasn’t. We have been married for 25 years and I never touched anyone else. Not that I wasn’t tempted… once. I took my vows seriously.”

“You are an honourable man, Gregory,” Mycroft got up and joined him in front of the fire. "Not many are, nowadays."

Greg grinned, managing to look pleased and guilty at the same time. “You may not think so when I tell you I think I have been in love with someone else for a rather long time.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I met them through work. I was able to help them out with a problem. I see them now and again and was thinking of pursuing a relationship with them. I thought you might help me decide whether they might be open to such a suggestion.” 

Mycroft wasn’t sure how he could help, love and sentiment weren’t really his area, but he would do his best. “Does the lady know of your affection for her?”

Gregory grinned even wider, “Uh, no. And he’s not a woman. Mycroft, you may not know this, but I am bisexual. I was in a relationship with a man before I met my wife, my ex-wife,” he corrected.

“No, I was not aware of that,” Mycroft frowned, disturbed that he had not been able to deduce that fact.

“Yes,” Gregory turned and took a step forward. “I thought he wasn’t attracted to me until about a month ago when I helped him and his brother with a project. That was when I caught him checking me out when he thought I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh,” Mycroft swallowed thickly, feeling his face flush. “The graveyard?”

Greg nodded, then took another step forward, now well inside Mycroft’s personal space. His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, yes. Then he kidnapped me and took me to an empty car park to talk about his brother. But, that was just a ruse to get to see me again."

“Gregory, I…” Mycroft stammered as Greg brought his hand up to caress his face.

“Are you interested, Mycroft?” Greg whispered, leaning in until his lips were only a breath away.

Mycroft smiled, “Yes, Gregory, I believe I might be.”

“Good!” Greg closed the distance and their lips met.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came here to practice my writing skills, so pardon me when I make a few little edits along the way. I have a long way to go towards perfection. I didn't particularly like this chapter so I tweaked it a little bit. (Well, maybe a bit more than tweaked, I rewrote it, actually) I hope you will find it a great improvement.

Greg ran a hand over the milky white skin of his lover, resisting the urge to lave his tongue across each and every one of the freckles that had been so well hidden beneath those bespoke suits. He felt privileged to have discovered that the ‘Ice Man’ was an ardent lover and anything but cold. Losing his battle with restraint, he leant over and mouthed at the faint bruise he had made last night, where Mycroft’s neck and shoulder met. Greg had never been one to need to mark his lovers before, but when Mycroft’s muscles had clenched around his cock and pulled Greg along with him into ecstasy, he had latched onto the blank canvas and sucked as wave after wave of pleasure washed over them both. The truth be told, they both had a myriad of bruises, bites and stubble burn, a testament to their carnal activities.

Mycroft shifted and Greg knew his lover was awake. He released the skin and raised his eyes to meet the blue ones studying him intently. 

“Ready to go again so soon, Gregory?” he said with a smirk.

Greg ran his fingers through his grey hair, leaving it standing up in what Mycroft could only describe as adorable spikes. “I’m sorry, My. I shouldn’t have started something that I can't finish. The desire’s there, but I’m afraid I’m not up to it so soon. I'm not seventeen anymore." He sank back in the bed, smiling at the unintended double entendre.

Mycroft smiled, “That’s quite alright. I believe it is my turn. You only have to enjoy yourself.”

Greg watched with rapt interest as Mycroft grabbed the bottle of lube off the bedside table and moved between his legs. He took one of Greg’s calves and placed it over his shoulder. A spark of heat shot through him as Mycroft flicked the lube cap open and rubbed a good amount of the product between his fingers. Greg manoeuvred the pillow beneath his head so he didn’t have to strain to maintain eye contact with his lover.

He gasped as Mycroft’s fingers slid behind his bollocks and over his hole. He braced himself for the breach, then chastised himself for thinking Mycroft would rush right in. Mycroft’s finger ghosted back and forth, teasingly at first. He felt his cock stir, already half hard at the thought of Mycroft taking the time to prepare him so gently and thoroughly. Greg thought he might just enjoy this almost as much as what came next.

Greg couldn't say whether he preferred having sex with a man over sex with a woman. He had known early on that he was attracted to both. For him, it was about who he was with, not necessarily what gender they were. He had always shied away from casual sex, preferring to have a deep emotional connection before shagging. Last night had not been a deviation from this practice, it was a fulfilment. He had bonded with Mycroft years ago. Only now that he was free from the restraints of his broken marriage did he act upon their connection.

That was why, as Mycroft slid his cock agonisingly slow in and out of him, he knew this was right and perfect, and worth the wait. He loved and was loved by this amazing man. A man he would be content waking up beside until the end of time. A man that he thought just might be his soul mate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I thought I had finished this story, but the muse had other things to say about that. ;-)

Whatever was taking Gregory so long? Surely, it didn’t take that much time to drop off some cold case files to keep Sherlock occupied while he and the DI lounged on the beach in Spain. Judging from the position of the door knocker, Sherlock and John were not in at the moment. Oh, it was Tuesday, though, and Mrs Hudson usually did her baking on Tuesdays so she could host her book club on Wednesdays. Well, in that case, he had time for a cigarette.

Stepping to the kerb, Mycroft pulled out his case and brought the cigarette to his lips. Oh, God, he needed this holiday. Work had been stressful enough without the added strain of keeping an eye on Sherlock to make sure he didn’t relapse again. He took a deep drag and savoured the kick of nicotine into his system. Before he could get the silver lighter back into his trouser pocket, a petite woman (mid to late forties, recently divorced, one adult child) stepped up holding her own cigarette. 

“Excuse me, but could you help me out? I seem to have lost my lighter.”

Mycroft smiled, “Of course.” He cupped his hands around the flame as she leant forward.

She smiled, stepping back and inhaling deeply, letting the smoke out with a contented sigh. “Thank you, Mr Holmes.” 

Mycroft looked her up and down again. He decided his initial assessment had been correct, he did not know her. “You’re welcome, Ms… ?”

“Ellis. I go by my maiden name now. You aren’t what I expected, Mr Holmes,” she stood back and seemed to look him over in the same way as he had her, “not at all what I expected.”

“I’m sorry, Ms Ellis, but I don’t believe I know you. If you will excuse me,” Mycroft dropped his cigarette and extinguished it with the toe of his shoe. He started towards the black door when she spoke again, her words stopping him mid-stride, making him turn back to her. 

“I thought you might be... I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t someone so… dignified. He has loved you for a long time. I do know that. He held back for so long before he gave in to his feelings, though. He tried to make our marriage work, even though I didn’t. I made a lot of mistakes, Mr Holmes, but letting Greg Lestrade go was the greatest of them all. If things had been different, if I hadn’t… ” she shrugged, unable to meet his eye. “I see now what I have lost, and I deeply regret it. He’s a good man Mr Holmes. Treat him right, will you?”

Mycroft stared at the outstretched hand in disbelief. Lestrade’s ex-wife was essentially giving them her blessing. He quietly reached out and took her hand, “Thank you, I will.” She met his eyes briefly, then released his hand and was gone. He stood there, momentarily stunned, unaware of the door shutting behind him. 

“Sorry, that took so long. Mrs Hudson was taking a batch of scones out of the oven and insisted I take some with us,” Greg put the hand not holding the bag of baked goods on Mycroft’s shoulder, frowning. “Are you alright, My? You look pale.”

Mycroft took a deep breath and smiled over at his lover. “I am just a little tired, nothing that a week enjoying your company won’t cure.”

Greg slipped his hand in Mycroft’s, grinning. “Let’s get started then.”


End file.
